Chapter 7 - THE ENFORCER'S TRAP
Removing my mother was the easy part. Dealing with the rot Derek had left behind was the war.
By Wednesday, the state attorney general had officially indicted Derek Vaughn on eleven counts of wire fraud, bank fraud, and grand larceny, alongside the felony assault charges. But the wheels of the American justice system turn with agonizing slowness, and Derek was free on a five-hundred-thousand-dollar bond, staying at his family’s private estate twelve miles outside the city.
Worse, Julian Vance’s empire was unraveling. And desperate men do not go quietly into bankruptcy.
At ten o’clock on a rainy Thursday night, I was still in the basement archives of Ashford House.
The archives were housed beneath the original 1890 stone foundation—a labyrinth of climate-controlled rooms filled with blueprints, leather-bound guest ledgers, and original architectural plates. I was cross-referencing Derek’s fictitious construction invoices against the historic preservation permits we had filed with the state five years ago.
The rain beat a steady, muffled rhythm against the high street-level transoms.
Suddenly, the overhead fluorescent lights flickered once, twice, and died.
The hum of the HVAC system cut out, plunging the cellar into total, cavernous silence.
I sat frozen at the desk. Ashford House had an automatic diesel backup generator designed to kick on within eight seconds of any power interruption.
Nine seconds passed. Ten. Twelve.
The generator hadn't failed. Someone had manually cut the transfer switch.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but I did not scream. I reached into my desk drawer, pulled out the heavy brass flashlight I kept for maintenance checks, and clicked it on. The narrow beam cut through the darkness, illuminating dust motes hanging in the damp air.
I stood up, slipped my phone from my pocket, and checked the screen.
*NO SERVICE.*
A signal jammer. A standard commercial jammer had a radius of fifty yards—which meant whoever had killed the power was inside the perimeter wall.
I moved quietly toward the heavy fire door leading to the central staircase. I kept the flashlight aimed low, illuminating only the stone flags at my feet. My grandmother had taught me every inch of this house when I was seven; I knew where the floorboards groaned and where the stone had settled unevenly.
As I reached the foot of the iron spiral staircase, a shadow moved on the landing above.
The beam of a tactical flashlight hit me directly in the eyes.
“You should have taken the four million, Claire,” Derek’s voice drifted down the stairwell.
He didn't sound panicked anymore. He sounded hollow, drained of the manic energy from the boardroom. He sounded like a man who had realized his life was over and had decided to drag everyone else down with him.
I lowered my light slightly, shielding my eyes. “Derek. You have a GPS ankle monitor on your leg. Detective Ellis knows you’re here.”
“The monitor’s sitting on the kitchen counter in my pool house, wired to a frequency loop that cost me twenty grand,” Derek said, stepping slowly down the iron stairs. The metal groaned beneath his boots. “By the time they realize the signal hasn't moved in four hours, I’ll be on a private charter out of Teterboro to a non-extradition port.”
“And you came here for what? Revenge?”
“I came for the bonds,” Derek said, reaching the bottom step. He was wearing a dark rain jacket, his hair plastered to his forehead. In his right hand, he held a short, heavy steel pry-bar. “Evelyn’s bearer bonds. The ones she stashed in the foundation vault before she died. Your mother told me about them six months ago. She said you were the only one with the combination.”
I stared at him through the dim light. “There are no bearer bonds, Derek. My mother made that up to keep you interested in her schemes. My grandmother put everything she owned into the operating trust. Every single dollar.”
May you like
Derek’s face twitched. The pry-bar swung slightly at his side. “You’re lying. She wouldn't leave a twenty-million-dollar property without a cash reserve. Give me the combination, Claire. Or we finish what we started in the kitchen.”
***
